


Learning Curve

by Rhaella



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaella/pseuds/Rhaella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire is no longer certain exactly what she needs to know, but realizes that only one person can even begin to teach her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not fair that only Peter gets a snarky British mentor of questionable morality, when Claire so clearly needs one as well. Since Claire's age keeps on randomly changing anyway, for the purpose of this fic she's 18. Spoilers through the first episode of the third season. Oh, and briefy implied Adam x Elle.

“Teach me,” she insists.

Granted, the demand is fairly pathetic. Her voice isn’t quite shaking, but she feels as though it should be. By all accounts, this is one of the most dangerous men in the world – in some ways more so even than Sylar, according to Peter.

(Claire can vividly remember exactly what Sylar is capable of.)

All the same, at the moment Adam Monroe doesn’t look particularly dangerous. He’s impeccably dressed, obviously out of place in the seedy San Francisco pub she’s managed to track him down to. Still, Claire thinks that it’s more than that; there’s an aura about the man that suggests he would seem out of place almost anywhere at all. She has only the picture she stole from her grandmother to go by – thirty years old, but apparently that doesn’t matter to people like _them_ – but finally seeing him, Claire realizes that she would have known him anyway.

“Teach you what, exactly?” Adam asks, the words vaguely condescending. He glances at her briefly and then turns his attention back to the assortment of empty shot glasses arrayed in front of him. Claire gets the distinct feeling that he’s none too impressed.

“I know you can heal,” she says bluntly. “Peter told me…”

“Did he really?” Adam interrupts, sounding far too amused, and Claire almost winces. Peter had actually told her to stay the hell away from Adam Monroe. He’d also accidentally let slip exactly what ability the man possessed, not realizing just how quickly that would send her rushing to find him.

“That’s interesting,” Adam observes, now looking considerably less bored. “You’re Claire Bennet, aren’t you? Elle mentioned you. None too favourably, as I recall.”

“You know Elle?” The words are out before Claire can stop herself, and she realizes that this conversation is going to be harder to control than she’d expected.

“Biblically,” Adam informs his wineglass.

Fighting down a blush, Claire shakes her head, leans across the table, and tries again. “That’s not important,” she says. “I need you to teach me how to use my power. How to…”

“It seems to me,” Adam cuts her off, staring pointedly at her forearm, “that you’re already quite proficient at healing.” Claire glances down and sees that her wrist is covered in blood. Calmly, Adam wipes the knife clean and sets it back on the table.

“Bastard,” Claire hisses, pretending not to care that she didn’t feel a thing.

Adam shrugs, utterly unapologetic, and gets to his feet. “A word of advice? Don’t lose your head. The rest… you already know.”

He’s gone before Claire can think of an answer. Defeated – yet again – she slides into his empty seat and almost wishes that this rebuttal were enough to make her give up and go home, content that she had at least tried.

She knows that it isn’t.

* * *

Their second meeting is more accidental than anything else.

It has been more than a month since Claire last heard even a rumour of his presence. Suddenly noticing a shock of blond hair out of the corner of her eye, she turns to see Adam wandering around a Los Angeles shopping mall. It’s odd, Claire decides, to see him in the midst of the civilization he once tried to wipe out, but she pushes the thought out of her mind and rushes after him. This is strange enough without stopping to think about his all too colourful history.

Adam doesn’t look overly surprised when he notices her, and Claire wonders if anything at all can shock him anymore. “I’m just going to keep on following you,” she tells him bluntly, “and if you have forever, then I’m guessing so do I. So it’d be easier if you just give me what I want.”

Adam smiles, but there’s nothing remotely pleasant about the expression. “Are you certain you want to threaten me, Claire?” he asks.

She blinks, again remembering exactly with whom she’s talking. “I don’t care anymore,” she replies, and realizes an instant later that it’s true.

“Evidently not,” he observes dryly, and then returns to ignoring her. He wanders over to an empty bench, sits down, and starts to drink a beverage he just bought. A moment before Claire is about to give up, or speak, or do something else entirely, Adam sighs. “I tried my hand at teaching several centuries ago,” he finally says. “I found it… not to my liking.”

Claire frowns. “I’m not asking you to teach me about history or science,” she says, trying not to glare. She’s come too far to give up now, and there’s so much she needs to understand. “Just… let me follow you, at least. Watch you.” She shakes her head, frustrated, “You don’t even have to do anything.” It’s not nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing, and she doubts she’ll ever be able to get anything more out of him.

Unblinking, Adam watches her for a long moment, and then takes another sip from his drink. “All right,” he agrees almost graciously, though there is nothing even remotely conceding in the words.

Claire is immediately suspicious. “You mean it?”

“I do.” He raises his eyebrows, and Claire has to fight down a blush.

“I thought you were…” she breaks off the sentence quickly, realizing that if for some reason he has forgotten or discarded his previous plans, it would be best not to mention them.

Adam gazes at her searchingly for a moment and then softly laughs. He stands up, throws his drink into the nearby trashcan, and turns back towards her, a slight smirk on his face. “Claire, you and I… we have, quite literally, all the time in the world.”

* * *

Living with Adam Monroe is disappointingly similar to living with anybody else. He has somehow managed to acquire a fairly luxurious apartment – Claire would wonder where he finds the money to afford it, but some questions are better left unasked – and seems content, for the moment, to simply watch the world spin around him.

She doesn’t know what she expected. Certainly not this.

Perhaps she was expecting to see hints of the insanity she’s still certain lurks beneath. Had he started to display signs of nihilistic megalomania, she would have at least had a roadmap of what to _avoid_.

He’s… not quite normal, of course. Adam Monroe is caught somewhere between myth and reality: a modern demigod who cannot decide to which realm he truly belongs. He’s too real to fully live up to the legends she made sure to read, but it still feels as if he’s not quite _there_. Adam walks through a world that cannot touch him, that ultimately means nothing to him.

It’s at the same time fascinating and terrifying, and Claire would be intrigued if she weren’t so disturbed by the implications.

On a Thursday afternoon, her arms full of groceries, Claire pushes the apartment door open and steps inside. Adam is sitting on the couch, his legs crossed over the coffee table, idly watching the television. It’s such a strange, twisted vision of domesticity that Claire can’t help but stare. Grimacing slightly, she drops her bags on the floor. “How can you… _pretend_ that everything is normal?”

Adam glances up in mild amusement. “When have I ever done any such thing?”

“Oh, right. I _forgot_ ,” Claire replies, a bit more bitterly than is probably warranted. This was, after all, her idea.

“If your aim is to learn how to be normal again,” he says, half of his attention on the television, and yet _still_ far too intuitive, “I’m sorry to say that you’re wasting your time here.”

Claire doesn’t bother to reply. She had originally thought she would have been able to learn simply by observing him, but has since come to understand the folly of such thinking – Adam will only ever show her what he wishes her to see.

“What are you watching?” she finally demands when the silence grows too oppressive.

He glances up quickly – not startled, never that – and his lips twist into some strange mockery of a smile. “The _History_ Channel,” he tells her, as if it’s some sort of private joke.

Claire simply stares at him, uncomprehendingly, and is almost surprised when he relents. “Not a word of it is true,” Adam explains, nodding towards the television. “Parts of it are factual, of course, but the larger picture is inevitably wrong. There are too many pieces missing, and they whitewash what little they still remember,” he says, turning off the program.

“Oh,” Claire manages eloquently, feeling off-balance. Four centuries, she’s thinking, and suddenly it’s more than just an abstract thought. She has always known, of course, but she’s never before stopped to think about it.  
 _  
Is this what I’m going to look like in a couple hundred years, when the world’s completely different?_

Adam is watching her. With a slight smile she can’t begin to interpret, he stands up and crosses the room, his movements betraying the complete muscle control that only comes with years of martial training and perfect health. “Someday you’ll understand,” he says, brushing lightly against her as he moves past her.

He’s not a telepath, she knows. Centuries of experience lend a power all their own. “I don’t want to.”

Adam shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to him either way. He replies, neither gently nor cruelly, “You won’t have the choice.”

* * *

The fifth time the sword goes flying out of her hand, Claire decides that it’s time to quit. “What’s the point of this anyway?” she demands, picking the weapon up and glaring at it so that she doesn’t have to look at _him_. She can tell that this particular sword is ancient: probably a relic of the European Renaissance. She wonders idly how he has managed to hold onto it after everything.

“The point?” Adam replies innocently. “I thought you _wanted_ to learn how to fight.”

“I thought _you_ weren’t going to teach me,” Claire retorts.

Adam shrugs, not at all troubled by the inconsistency. “I was… simply bored.”

Maybe glaring at him isn’t such a bad idea after all. “Nobody uses swords in this day and age,” she protests.

“Not true,” he informs her, setting his own sword aside. “In any case, the more weapons with which you familiarize yourself, the more options you’ll have in any situation.” He pauses momentarily, and then smiles. “Claire, you’re not telekinetic. You can’t start fires or stop time, but you _can_ use your invulnerability to improve your abilities. I suggest you take advantage of it.”

“Right,” she says shortly. “Again?”

“I don’t think so,” Adam replies, easing the sword out of her hand. “You could easily get training from any martial artist. You hardly need me for _this_.”

“But I…”

“In fact,” he interrupts calmly, “I don’t believe you’re quite certain what you need from me at all.”

Claire presses her lips together, wondering if he might be correct. She knows not to trust anything he says, knows how dangerously silver tongued he is, and yet… she had originally thought that learning how to fight would make her problems go away. Now she isn’t sure.

“And you are?” she asks bitterly.

He shrugs and makes no reply. She almost hates him for it.

* * *

Adam Monroe never says much.

He speaks a great deal, of course, but it’s nearly impossible to decipher exactly what else his statements might mean. A couple of well-chosen words, and he could charm Claire as easily as he has charmed everybody else he has ever known. Sometimes she wonders if even the words are necessary, or if it is simply his presence – the one constant in an ever-changing world – that draws people in.

Still, he doesn’t say much. Perhaps, after four centuries, nothing of value remains to be said.

“Why are you letting me stay here?” she asks one day, glancing over his shoulder at the newspaper he’s pretending to be reading.

She has asked this question more times than she can count, and she expects him to give her the same noncommittal answer he always has before. “Over the centuries, I’ve seen many telepaths, pre-cogs, and fire starters. Even a couple of empaths other than Peter,” Adam says instead, thoughtfully enough that she thinks she might finally have her answer. But then he smiles at her – the type of expression that would pull her in if she didn’t realize what it meant. “Our kind, however… we’re _exceedingly_ rare.”

His fingers brush so lightly against her forearm that she almost doesn’t notice. She glances down, mulling over his words – they say little themselves, but there’s an answer or three built into them – and she finally concludes, “You’re… lonely, aren’t you?”

She shouldn’t care, not after everything he has done, but she can no longer look at him without seeing herself reflected back.

“Not exactly,” Adam replies easily enough, but he does nothing to dissuade her.

She doesn’t really hear the words. She’s too busy remembering her own difficulties: the confusion, the uncertainty, the sudden disconnection and the desperate need to feel real. She once read that the awareness of death is a large part of what it means to be human, and she can’t be sure where that leaves her. Until now, it’s a concern that she alone has borne.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adam is suddenly watching her intently. “Do what, exactly?”

“Anything. Everything. _I don’t know_ ,” she pauses, sighs, and shakes her head. “But I guess you don’t, do you? You just go crazy, think you’re a god, and decide to wipe out humanity.”

He is still staring at her, so quiet that she doubts he’s going to speak at all. Finally, long after she had given up expecting an answer, he says, “Your obsession with _normalcy_ is unbecoming, Claire. I’m afraid nobody is going to be able to teach you how to be what you are. If you don’t have the strength to accept that, you won’t find it elsewhere.”

His tone is far too gentle for the words he is speaking, and Claire doesn’t realize that he has moved until he is almost too close, his hand now resting against her shoulder. “Of course, if you didn’t have that strength,” he continues, his voice laced with soft amusement, “I doubt you would have had my power.”

Claire smiles despite herself, wondering if perhaps he is right.

* * *

Claire has always known that there might be a price to pay for his cooperation. She had accepted as much.

Still. Still, she isn’t sure exactly how _this_ happened.

She had anticipated that he would ask her, demand of her, perhaps even coerce her – that is, after all, what villains do – but this… this is completely unexpected.

She wasn’t supposed to lean into him when he reached around her for… well, she isn’t really certain exactly _what_. She didn’t mean to quietly laugh at his murmured comment, or brush her fingers across his cheek. She should’ve pushed him away when he pressed his hand against bare skin, not pulled him _closer_.

This isn’t anything resembling a relationship, and despite appearances, she does realize that he’s technically still an enemy.

Adam’s lips are warm against her throat, his hands more skilled than she had anticipated – she tries not to think about how much experience he has to have – and Claire decides that she doesn’t much care about the rest. Enemy or not, she doubts that anyone else could ever understand her well enough to give her what she needs.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks her, even though they both already know the answer.

She mumbles something that might have been a yes, too busy tearing the clothes from his body to give a more coherent response.

Adam is far from gentle. She senses that he easily could have been if either had wanted it, but this strange mixture of need, desire, and disregard is infinitely more sincere. He leaves bruises that disappear before she even notices them, and never hesitates when she demands more. He understands more than anybody else the true meaning of invulnerability.

For a few moments, Claire is too caught up in the present to remember that she can no longer feel pain.

He never asks her how she is afterwards; there is no need. Instead, he simply watches her, his face far more open than she has ever seen before. After a few moments, Claire frowns and asks, “This is forever, isn’t it?”

“So it would seem,” Adam replies, looking none too upset about that fact.

It isn’t love. This is nothing _like_ love, but it’s no less powerful because of that. Being with Adam is like staring into the face of eternity. The pieces don’t all fit together – she suspects they never will – but she can suddenly look at them without flinching.

Claire doesn’t want to call it destiny – the word isn’t quite right for what they share; it’s too bright and laden with meaning for a coincidence of genetics – but no other human term comes close.

* * *

“Do you really want to know the secret, Claire?” he asks one night, his tone thoughtful, as he combs his hand absently through her hair.

She arches her neck and glares at him. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

Frowning slightly, as if he’s tired of dealing with an unruly child, Adam shifts against her. The gesture makes Claire feel suddenly foolish. “I mean, yes,” she amends, as graciously as she can manage.

“You won’t like it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she replies through clenched teeth. Claire is tired of being told what she should and shouldn’t do, of being held back and constantly _protected_ , as if her invulnerability only ran skin deep. She’s tired of thinking that maybe it does.

Adam simply shrugs. He’s not her parents, or Peter, or even Meredith; he has never treated her up like some fragile object that must always be kept away from harm.

Perhaps that is why she has stayed so long.

“How often have you been hurt, Claire?” he asks, surprisingly gentle for such a question.

She thinks of Sylar and of everything that has come before. Of being stabbed, and shot, and almost raped. Of feeling the flesh melt from her body, and of waking up to find her chest cavity wide open. She thinks of everything, self-inflicted or otherwise, until she shudders and finally shuts her eyes. “Often enough.”

“I’m stunned that you would still wish to feel pain,” Adam comments flatly.

“I…” Claire breaks off, knowing that there’s more to it than simply the concern that she may no longer be human. “If I can’t feel it, does it still even _matter_?” she finally asks, her voice tight. “Sylar couldn’t kill me when he cut my head open, he wouldn’t even be able to hurt me any more… does that mean…?” she hesitates, shakes her head.

“If it leaves you this upset,” Adam reasons, “it apparently still matters.”

Claire sighs, “But the rest of the world…”

“The rest of the world is irrelevant,” Adam replies sharply. “Rules and perceptions will come and go. You, however, won’t. If you can’t rise above them, your life is going to be very unpleasant.”

Claire doesn’t reply for a long moment, realizing that this is probably how he has justified everything. “Is that your secret?” she finally asks bitterly.

“It’s hardly a secret,” Adam says dryly before falling silent. Eventually, he asks her, “Have you ever sought vengeance?”

“Yes,” she replies quickly, trying not to remember.

Adam says nothing, but his eyes are so curious that Claire finally sighs and bites her lip. “Several years ago… a boy, he tried to rape me… I took the car. I crashed it. I…”

“Did you kill him?” Adam sounds more intrigued than anything else.

“No,” Claire hisses, disgusted.

“A pity,” he replies. “Still… I’d say you already understand, even if you try not to.”

“Understand _what_?” Claire demands, twisting away from him.

“Claire, you came to me expecting… I don’t know what. To find the strength to never be hurt again. Some easy method of empowerment, perhaps. I’m afraid to say it doesn’t exist. I could teach you every trick, every weapon, every skill I’ve ever learned over the centuries.”

He turns away from her and starts to pull his clothes back on. “In the end, it will _never_ be enough. I’ve been stabbed, shot, imprisoned, even buried alive. In short, _betrayed_ , and more times than I can count. Our gift doesn’t always allow for an easy escape from any situation; nothing you can do will ever change that.”

Claire watches as he stands up, and she can think of no response. “However,” he suddenly continues, his voice clipped and precise, “our gift _does_ allow an infinite opportunity for redress. Any wrong done to us is always transitory. _We_ are not.”

He smiles suddenly, all at once fierce and captivating and utterly uncompromising. “We may be victimized, but we are never victims.”

Gathering the blankets around herself, Claire wonders what sort of personality can survive thirty years of imprisonment and _so much more_ , and yet remain so strong, so unbroken.

It’s not exactly what she had hoped to learn, but his words (for once) ring utterly true to her ears. Claire knows that he has nothing more to give her, nothing more to say that can match this admission. She has no further need to remain, no reason to stay away from her own family any longer.

She’ll leave, she decides. Perhaps in the morning.

“I’ll see you later,” Adam says as he reaches for the door, and she knows that, inevitably, he will. Later has forever to arrive.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is really meta about the regenerative power disguised as fic. ~~And no, I don’t really give a damn what the story does to it next, what?~~ Watching Claire wander around asking people with completely different powers to teach her kind of confused me, since hers is so inherently different.
> 
> I’m not sure how much sincerity Adam is actually showing here and how much is really just Claire seeing only what she wants to see. Still, I do think there would be at least something real between them, since he does realize that, unlike everybody else, she isn’t simply going to disappear.


End file.
